Lines of Supply: Part 1 of Going Back
by Milo Pressman
Summary: Confronting a hit team sent by Hector in retaliation for Ramon's arrest, we get a glimpse of how Jack survived Mexico.


Setting: This story begins immediately after the conclusion of "Long Weekend: Monday" (see "Aprilmom#3:Pt.5 Long Weekend", post #44231.1, in the "Fan Fiction" folder). After his initial return from his undercover operation with the Salazars, Jack and Kate have renewed their relationship. Kate's father, Bob Warner, objects strongly to Kate's involvement with Jack. Unbeknown to Kate, he and Jack meet, and Warner details his numerous objections to Jack's involvement with his daughter, and promises that he will ensure that the relationship ends quickly. Jack, infuriated, makes a few threats of his own. He leaves the meeting knowing he must "score" quickly, before Warner can assign someone to follow his movements. He also knows that Hector has sent a hit team to kill him, in retaliation for Ramon's arrest. But instead of locating a new source of heroin, Jack has spent the weekend with Kate. He must now return to the same bar where he scored in "The Phone Call", despite his concern that Hector's men may be closing in on him.  
  
The following story contains descriptions of graphic violence. Reader discretion is advised.  
  
Lines of Supply It took him almost two hours to reach his destination, a ride that, at two am on a Sunday morning would take about forty minutes. But on a Monday evening at 6:30 it seemed that he managed to hit every traffic jam and snarl that could possibly exist in the thirty miles or so between Bob Warner's favorite hangout and the bar that Jack had been frequenting of late.

He made good use of the time, though. First off, and most important, he got himself cooled down from the white-hot anger Warner's attitude and accusations triggered in him. Part of the cooling down process involved admitting to himself that a great deal of that anger was rooted in his surprise at Warner's extremely accurate identification of his considerable vulnerabilities. Another portion sprang from the pure insult that had come across the table at him from Warner's direction. At his age, and in his line of work, Jack wasn't used to being talked down to by any man. And it had been some time since he'd faced an outraged father and had to sit there and take it. Another piece of it was grudging admiration of Bob's raw nerve in attempting to get between him and Kate, mixed with contempt at the heavy-handedness of how the whole scene was staged, and Bob's poor timing. If their roles were reversed, Jack mused, he would have gotten the goods on the unacceptable lover first, and laid out a tight schedule for the conclusion of the relationship while the man sheepishly leafed through the pictures and the sworn affidavits and the police records and the credit card receipts and the bank statements. All this fair warning stuff was right out of a Victorian novel; just set the trap, spring it, and be done.

With a little work Jack gradually got himself down to that controlled, cold level of emotion where he did his best thinking, and mapped out his next play. He was going to crucify the son-of-a-btch. Then he made a few phone calls, to various people he knew in several different agencies. It had to be done carefully because Warner had friends in many of the same places Jack did. Finally, after hesitating for a moment's reflection about what he intended to do to her father, he called Kate.

"Hi, its me. Listen, I'm stuck in traffic and I've got one other thing I need to do for work, then I'll be free. How are you?"

"I just got in myself. I was crazy to agree to teach a course during summer session. I feel like I'm dead on my feet".

"Look, maybe we shouldn't try to get together tonight".

"What, are you kidding?" She laughed and he had to smile back, as if she were there in the car to see it. "After four phone calls today, you think you're going to get out of seeing me tonight? Come by when you get done, I'll fix you something to eat. How about some French toast?"

"Sounds great, but it could be awhile".

"No rush, I'll be here. If I'm asleep when you get in just wake me up".

"Ok, but I'll have to ring the doorbell" he smiled again. "I don't have a key," he added dryly "Just keep leaning on it, I'll wake up eventually. Oh, and Jack..." "Yes?" "Bring your toothbrush with you". "I've still got the one I bought this weekend".

They were both silent for a moment or two, both thinking about the last three days. The time that Bob Warner, in his wisdom, had concluded they should never have had and, if he had his way, would never have again "I'll call you when I get headed your way, ok?" he said finally. "Fine. And Jack"... He waited. He wanted to hear her say it. "I love you".

He told her what she needed to hear from him and then he hung up, swearing to himself this would be the last time, the very last time, he'd take the risk of going to this place. He'd take care of business tomorrow, no more of this walking around in a daze, trying to come up with excuses for calling her every hour or so, he was too old for this, he had to focus on the things he needed to take care of, including the supply issue.

He pulled up about two blocks from the bar, on a side street near the alley, away from the streetlight, and turned off the engine. He got out and waited for several minutes in the dark shadow of his car, making sure his eyes had adjusted to the lack of light, just listening, getting a feel for the night sounds of this place, seeing if he caught anything in the air, surveying quickly up and down the block. Then he moved, not down the sidewalk but up the alley, keeping to the dark places along the walls, checking his back every thirty feet or so. No sign of anyone following, either on the ground or up above.

He emerged across from his destination, but still in the shadows, so he could see who was going in and out and, hopefully, remain unseen himself. There was a guy making out with a woman, leaning up against the wall, a few feet from the doorway. He seemed fully engaged in what he was doing. Jack watched to see if he turned his head or stopped momentarily when someone entered or left, but the man never even came up for air. And she couldn't see around him without a periscope. The bar was doing a brisk business tonight; people were coming and going regularly. So much the better, it was good if there was a crowd as long as there wasn't a wait. People must have gotten their SSI and paychecks today. Another group of three or four was walking up from the left...partiers, by the look of them, not cash-and carry.

He crossed the street and timed it so he'd walk in at the same time, as if he was with them. Inside the music from the mediocre band was loud and the cigarette and other smoke was so thick that there was a haze around the lights. They were standing three and four deep at the bar and the bartenders were earning their money tonight, pouring it out as fast as humanly possible. Jack stayed around the periphery of the room, looking and listening, to the extent he could with that music blaring away, surveying the faces, looking for just that little hint of recognition both on the faces of those he was looking at and in his own gut. He was looking for Hispanics, primarily, but they could have hired anybody, just to throw him off. It was so stupid to be here in the first place he could kick himself. Finally he moved up to a place where the crowd at the bar was the thinnest, taking off his sunglasses as he walked up so he could catch the guy's eye.

The bartender looked up "What'll you have?" "How long's the wait?" He glanced over his shoulder "You're third. About five, seven minutes. Want a drink?" "Scotch, straight, anything you've got handy".

"Want to buy me one too?" Jack looked to his left. She was smiling at him, had already taken his hand and put the other arm around his waist.

"Are you by yourself?" she asked.

"What do you want?" he smiled back at her. She was a little thing, not bad looking. She didn't look used and hard, yet, and Jack remembered that her hair was still soft when you touched it. Way too much makeup, of course. If she ever washed some of it off he guessed she could even still look to be her age, early twenties, not any older.

"Same as you. But on the rocks". Jack steered her over to the side so he could stand with his back to the wall and still see out over the room and catch the nod that would tell him he was cleared to head to the back. Of course people were selling stuff in the bathrooms and behind every pillar but they weren't offering what he was in the market for; selling that was the privilege of the house. The other dealers just had to pay a percentage for the honor of doing business on the premises. Talking to her was a good idea; they would probably be looking for him to be by himself.

"You were in a hurry the last time" she said, playing around with a couple of the buttons on his shirt. "Anybody come asking about me?" She hesitated. "I wasn't here the last three days. The guys at the bar would know. Are you in a hurry tonight?" "Depends". There were three exits on the ground floor, not counting what might be in back, behind the stage. "Don't rush home to the wife. Have some fun". "Don't have one". "All the more reason to have some fun". The bartender nodded in Jack's direction. "I'm up". He said, finishing his drink. "This will only take a minute. Don't disappear on me".

The worst part was handing over his gun at the door, that was when he felt the most vulnerable, and with good reason. They were getting sloppy, though. Maybe they were just too interested in moving a maximum number of customers through as fast possible tonight, because, thankfully, nobody waited for him to hand over the other gun, the one he kept strapped to his leg, although the second guy did hold his hand out for Jack's knife. They didn't even frisk him properly, just checked the front and then had him turn around and face out towards the room while they checked his back.

He took one more glance around before heading in. Nothing particularly unusual. Just a guy over on the left, a table or so away, picking up a cell phone, who was looking towards the bar. Not at the girl, who was looking away from him, but at the bartender. Somebody passed out at a table on the right, a few groups of people talking over drinks, the crowd around the bar a little thinner, the music still making your head ring, the dancers up on top of the bar strutting and posing and leaning down to collect tips that were tucked into the very small spaces that their miniscule "clothes" covered up. One man headed for the front door.

Jack made himself go through the whole routine they were used to with him, snorting a sample to make sure of the quality, pocketing the bag into his jacket and retrieving his gun and knife after the counterman wished him the best and a safe ride home to Pasadena. The guy was still on the phone as Jack walked by and stumbled into him. "Sorry" The man pulled back from Jack, muttering "yonqui gusano" under his breath but smiling, not taking offense. He headed back to the bar and walked up to the girl.

"Listen, you want another drink before we head upstairs?" She smiled at him again. "Sure". "Let's get enough to do some serious damage," He paid for the rest of the half-filled bottle and the bartender handed it over, just glancing at Jack but not looking away from him, either. Jack handed her the glasses and put his arm around her waist as they walked over to the stairwell. Before they headed up he pulled her to him and kissed her hard, his free hand traveling down past her back, pulling her in even tighter. She knew what was wanted at this point and her hand moved up his thigh.

"Hang on, soldier, save something for later" she said, pulling away from him after awhile. "How'd you know I was in the Army?" he asked her on the way up to the next floor. "I can tell a healed gunshot wound when I see one". "Could mean I'm a cop. Or just an ordinary thug". "Well, you sure don't act like a cop". She looked at him for a moment before opening the door. "And you're not a thug either. Just a strange combination of both, maybe"

He followed her in and closed the door behind him, locking it. He turned and her back was to him. She was already getting undressed. "I like to get the business part of this out of the way first, so we can relax". She turned and looked surprised to see Jack flipping his cell phone open. "I thought you didn't have to call anybody to tell them not to wait dinner". Jack looked over at her. "Don't get too chilly over there. You might as well put this back on." He tossed her sweater over to her. "Keep quiet and I'll try to keep you from getting hurt. Now turn out the light and stay away from the window".

"What was all that about down there, if you don't want it now?" The phone was still ringing. "Its called buying time. I want them to think I'm busy. So they don't feel they have to rush things". It took six rings for somebody to answer.

"Chase, we got a situation here. I've been made. I think there're four shooters but I could be wrong". He gave Chase the address. "I'm headed for the roof. I think it connects over to the building next door, the one that fronts Colvin Avenue, so I'll try to go through that one to the first floor and out to the street. I'll try to meet up with you there".

"I'll call in back-up".

"No, don't do that."

"Jack there's still just me and you and they've got at least two more guys. I don't like those odds, we need back-up, and satellite imaging would be nice".

"No, listen, nobody at work can know about this, and I don't want LAPD called in either. We'll have to take care of it ourselves. Are you up for it?" "What about Gael?" "No, no one else can be involved in this one. Are you in or not?" "Yeah, like I'm gonna say no. I'm on my way. Will they come for you inside?" "I don't think so. They probably fingered me but they don't want a mess inside. My guess is they told the shooters to take their business outside". "You hope. I'm on my way", "Stay away from the 405, it's a parking lot tonight". He hung up.

"You are a cop," she said. "Not exactly. Don't worry, I'm not from vice or narcotics." He glanced out the window from the side. A black SUV that wasn't there before was now parked across the street, and three men emerged, fanning out around the building.

"Who id'd me? What did the guy look like?"

"I told you, I wasn't here". Jack looked at her. She was scared.

"Its all right, I don't blame you. You don't owe me anything. How much did they give you?"

She looked down, embarrassed. "Three hundred". They really wanted him, to pay that much to get information out of a hooker.

"Quick, tell me what he looked like".

"Mexican, kind of tall and skinny, lots of rings, short hair, nothing special. Looked me up and down the whole time he was talking to me".

"Vincente. Thinks he's a ladies' man".

"Yeah, that's him. Listen, I'm sorry. I don't have anything against you. I just needed the money".

"You and everybody else" Jack said, moving towards the door. "Which way are the stairs to the roof?" "To your right". He had to get moving. If they figured him for going to the roof they'd come across from the other building, hit him right when he came out the door. He had to be the first one up there.

"Do me a favor. Give them some sounds effects, ok? Like I was still here'. He opened the door a crack.

"Ok. Say, what's your real name? They said, but I don't remember". "Jack. Just like I told you before". "I'm Annie. Not Crystal, like I told you. Good luck, Jack. I'm really sorry". "Lock the door behind me". Not that it would do much good. But it was something to say.

There was another flight of stairs, and then he was at the door to the roof. He unscrewed the light bulb in the ceiling above the landing. Crouching low, he opened the door slightly. Nothing. He gathered himself together and then rolled out of the door and across the first six feet or so of tarpaper. They were just coming onto the roof from the other side, from the other building, and they shot high, over his head, hitting the closing door where he would have been if he'd walked out.

He rolled to a crouch, gun drawn, covered in the front by an air conditioning unit. Now they could get him in a cross fire, from somebody coming up the same way he'd come and from the two guys in front of him. If they stayed put, that was their plan. But if these two tried to flank him... He rose up quickly, more to see if he could draw their fire and find out where they were than to hit back. The shooter on his left fired; nothing from the one on the right. He knew instantly that the guy on the right was probably one of his, one he'd trained, because he knew enough not to take such an unlikely shot and reveal his position. Jack had to move. He was a sitting duck for anybody coming up the stairs behind him. Go towards stupidity. Go to the left.

He went for the side of the structure that housed the elevator shafts for both buildings, moving now at a doubled-over run. The guy waited just a bit too long, didn't react quickly enough and Jack made it, wedging his back up against the metal sides. Thank God it was dark and they couldn't see him. He held his breath so he could listen better. What had happened to the guy on the right? Where was he??

The door from the bar opened up and there was another shooter on the roof. Now he had three of them to worry about, and probably another one on the stairs of the other building, where he wanted to go down. He heard a little rattle off to his right, like small pieces of plastic or gravel moving around underfoot. He counted to two and rose up, shouting, "Quick, the door" in Spanish. The local didn't have a chance. His gun was raised, pointing at the door, when Jack shot him under the left armpit. The guy was no more than six feet away from him.

Jack dropped immediately, moving around to the other side of the structure, stepping over the body. The other two would be closing in on where he'd just moved from. He was back down to where he'd started, two on one. He was a lot closer to the other stairs now. Only he had twenty feet to go and not a thing to hide behind along the way except for a peaked, glass covered skylight. The other air conditioning unit was far off to the right and this thing he was leaning on served the elevators for both buildings. If they came around it from both sides... The roof of the elevator cover on was flat.

Jack holstered his gun and started climbing, using the vented sides like a ladder. The metal was sharp and cut his hands but he was on top in a few seconds. There was a bit of a lip around the perimeter of it and he spread-eagled on the top, pulling his gun back out, hoping he made no silhouette that would be illuminated by the light coming up from the skylight a few feet away. They were moving up cautiously, coming around down below him from opposite sides, not realizing yet he wasn't there anymore. "Hey Jack" one of them called "Hector said to tell you he'd see you in Hll".

Jack leaned over quickly and shot down, hitting the silent one in the head, just above the ear. Then he rolled back. The one on the right was Emilio. Just his kind of dumb mistake, not to warn the locals that Jack spoke Spanish fluently now, complete with curses, idioms and a working-class Mexican accent. Emilio was sloppy, never paid enough attention to the details, but he wasn't suicidal. Realizing where Jack was, and that he had command of the entire roof now, he high-tailed it to the door that lead to Jack's bar. Jack thought he winged him as he sprinted behind the air conditioner but he couldn't be sure. Which way to go? Down after Emilio, or across the roof to the other building, his original plan? That was where Chase would be coming up, if he could get here in time, meeting whomever they'd left on the stairs.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw the door to his bar open quickly and close. Yeah, right. He waited. Emilio was still on the roof, waiting for Jack to jump down and head across to the stairs. Still...He judged the distance, figured how long it would take him to reach the other door and then... He jumped down and sprinted across, reaching the door and grasping the knob as Emilio emerged around the side of the elevator structure.

In one fluid motion Jack turned quickly, his gun level, and pulled the door open, lowering himself. He hit Emilio in the right shoulder and his gun went flying. The guy on the stairs came running through the now open door and Jack pivoted, firing point blank into the local's side. He walked over to Emilio, panting to catch his breath, hard inside and ready to finish up his work. He couldn't leave any of these guys alive. Emilio was fading. Jack's shot had taken off most of the side of his head and all of his shoulder, since his arm had been raised up around his ear when he was hit. But he could still see out his other eye and he was looking at Jack.

"Emilio, you stupid prck, how many times did I tell you? You've got to pay attention to the details". He heard Jack, and then he was dead. Jack went through the man's pockets quickly, keeping anything that might identify him or lead back to Mexico. If the LAPD thought any of these guys were connected to Salazar, it wouldn't be too long before they'd show up at Jack's door, looking for answers and suspecting this wasn't just some ordinary drug-dealer shoot out.

Working his way down the stairs was tedious, dangerous work. It was quiet now: the band next door had probably split the second the first shots were fired. There must have been pandemonium when all the bar's patrons started spilling out into the street, taking off as fast as possible before the cops showed up. He hadn't even noticed, though, being preoccupied with his own problems. One floor to go. Where was Chase? He was at the door to the street now. If they were set up outside, waiting for him to come out...he had to come out some way they weren't expecting.

How many were there in all? The three from the car, the one with the cell phone in the bar, and the one walking to the door, and the make-out artist who'd stood outside. And Vincente made seven. So much for the "3 to 5" they'd heard about. He and Chase were up against seven guys; well, three, now.

The ground floor of this building housed a restaurant supply company. Even in the darkness Jack could see the racks of dishes and glassware and huge bowls and fancy ranges because there was a streetlight directly across from the big front window. That meant there'd be a loading dock in back, maybe another way out. Or should he wait here to see if they tried to come in after him? The inside of the building felt like a trap. If Chase were outside, he would be trying to stay behind these guys, so that when Jack came out, they'd be caught between the two of them. Chase couldn't drive them in to where Jack was waiting, they were still out numbered. And if he now thought there were seven of them, why couldn't there just as easily be eight, or nine?

Jack kicked in the lock and crawled to the back of the store. There was a door with a small, grimy window next to the big metal grate that covered the loading dock. But despite the streetlight that illuminated the alley about a quarter of a block away, up to the right, this entrance to the store was recessed, and it was too dark to see anything through the window. He'd be going out blind. If he called Chase, and the ringer was on, it could reveal his position at a bad time. Chase wasn't dumb, though. And he paid attention to details.

"Where are you?" "I'm in the store on the ground floor, at the back, by the loading dock" "There's three of them waiting for you to walk into their arms back here. And two more out front".

"Jesus"

"I'm in the back, behind a dumpster in the alley, about a hundred feet up to your left. I'll come out at the count of three to draw their fire my way, you come out and hit them while they're still dealing with me". Jack tried the door. It was locked. "You're gonna be on your own for a good ten seconds. I've got to blow the lock on this door. Is there anything out there I can use for cover? "They're already behind what's available". "Ok, by my mark, one, two three..."

Jack fired the instant he heard Chase open up. The door swung inwards, which took more time because he couldn't just roll out. He noted the locations of the shooters as he dropped down off the dock to the ground, and he took off towards the right so he'd end up behind them.

It was like a chessboard with the pieces spread out in front of him. They still didn't realize Jack had emerged from the store. The noise Chase had made had covered the sound of Jack's shot. The light was up and over his right shoulder, and he could see three figures, crouching in various locations in front of him behind trashcans and dumpsters and a pickup truck, and the flashes from Chase's gun. He had to take care of these three now because the two out front wouldn't stay there long with this racket going on. They'd know where he was.

Jack took careful aim at the guy who was the closest to him and got him in the head. The second guy had just enough time to register the thought that he was being hit from behind, and then he was gone too. And the third turned... It was Vincente. Smart enough to know he had to get his back to the building but too slow to get there in time. Chase's shot hit him in the midsection as he tried to make a run for it and he sprawled in the pavement. "Jack, down!" Chase shouted and fired over his head.

Jack turned over onto his stomach, facing the opposite direction now, in time to see Chase's shot take the guy's legs out from under him. The last one came around the corner and took Chase's final shot full in the chest. He cautiously got up from the ground. Could there still be more of them? If Hector would send this many this time, how many would be coming the next time?? It was time to send Hector a little message of his own.

The one who had taken it in the legs was Helio. Jack picked up the other man's gun, and considered. Not a fatal wound if he got to a doctor. He was bleeding, but, miraculously, not from an artery. He was staring up at Jack defiantly, full of vinegar even now, ready to tell the man who held his life in his hands exactly what he thought of him. A man of fierce loyalties who would do anything for a comrade, a friend. Helio had carried Jack on his back for three miles through a stinking swamp in Columbia. Both of them ended up covered with leeches. That cold beer they'd shared afterwards, while they burned the leeches off each other with lit cigarettes, had tasted so good. Helio wasn't as insightful as Eduardo, but he knew more dirty jokes, and told them better, than anyone else Jack had ever met. Helio would be the messenger.

Curiously, they just looked at each other, not speaking. What was there to say?

Jack walked over to the final shooter's body. He was stone dead; the middle part of his torso didn't exist anymore. And then there was Vincente.

Jack looked down at him. He had a gapping stomach wound but he was still conscious. He didn't have long. Here was the message, or part of it.

"Jack, you walked right in". He coughed, looking up at Jack. He was choking on his own blood. But he still wouldn't shut up. "We wanted your btch first. But you were too good to pass up".

"Vincente, you always did have a smart mouth. I think I'll clean it out.

"Pick the other guy up, Chase." Jack called out "Pick him up so he can see me".

Chase holstered his gun and lifted Helio from behind, by the armpits, and leaned him up against the nearest dumpster. Jack bent down, picked up Vincente by the hair, and put the muzzle of Helio's gun in his mouth. "Helio" Jack called out "tell the rest of the hombres this is what I'll do to them if they come looking for me again". Then he pulled the trigger. He stood up and walked over to Helio.

"Chase, go frisk the dead ones". "You gonna kill me too now, Jack?" Helio spat out. "Jack, you sure..." "Chase, shut the fck up and go do what I said. Please. I have to have a little private conversation with this one".

Chase hesitated for a moment and started to say something, but when he saw the look on Jack's face he thought better of it and instead walked over to the guy whose brains Jack had just spread out all over the pavement.

"No Helio, you get to live, but only because you're going to deliver a second message for me. This one goes to Hector. Tell him he still does business in California because I kept stuff back. Something happens to me, or to anybody I know, and I mean anybody, down to the guy who cuts my hair, the DEA will know every mule, every warehouse, every dealer, every airstrip he uses between here and Monterey. If he thinks he's lost money now, wait until I really start singing. Now, you'll remember to tell him that, right?"

"Sure, I'll remember, Jack. But tell me something first. When you cut Eduardo's throat..."

Jack smacked Helio across the face with his gun as hard as he could. The blood and some pieces of Helio's teeth went flying.

"Also," Jack said quietly, getting up in the other man's face as close as he could, "tell him if he even thinks about touching her, _his_ btch will be dead, and _his_ wife will be dead and _his_ children will be dead. And I'll let him watch me while I do it, after I have a little fun. And then it will be Hector's turn. And before I'm done he'll be crying like a baby for me to kill him. And you both know I'll do it all by myself, without blinking an eye. Just like before".

"I'll tell him, Jack" Helio spat out another tooth, "but you're still a worm and a mtherfcking junkie".

"Maybe so, Helio. But I'm the mtherfcking junkie with the gddmn gun. Now get the hell out of my sight".

Jack grabbed Helio by the lapels and pushed him down the alley. The wounded man limped badly, falling once or twice, painfully pulling himself up each time, and then disappeared around the corner of the building. Jack watched him go until he was out of sight, then turned to the nearest dead body. Police sirens could be heard wailing louder in the distance.

"Jack, what were you doing down here in the first place?"  
He continued to frisk the dead bodies, looking to pocket anything that would connect them back to the Salazars.  
"You know we've got to get out of here before LAPD shows up. It would go a lot quicker if you'd stop asking questions and start working on id'ing these guys".  
"Seems like you know them pretty well already".  
"Not the local guys. Just this one, one up on the roof, and the one that left".  
Jack stood up and Chase faced him.  
"I'd like an answer to my question. I came down here and got shot at and I'd like to know why".  
"Because they were trying to kill me, Chase".  
"No, I mean why here. What the hll were you doing down here?"  
Jack looked at him for a silent moment. "I was visiting a friend".  
"A friend? In this neighborhood? What kind of a friend would you ever have in a place like this? There's nothing but junkies and dealers and whores and God knows what all down here."  
Jack stopped what he was doing and looked at Chase like he was dumber than a fencepost. "What's the matter with you? Didn't you ever pay for it?"  
"Oh" He was embarrassed. "Sorry". Jack having to pay for it? He'd never imagined Jack...  
"Believe me," Jack muttered, almost to himself "sometimes its a lot easier to pay for it than it is to put up with what you have to endure to get it the other way".  
  
When he got to his car Jack poured a bottle of water over the cuts he'd gotten climbing the elevator housing and he bound up his left hand with his handkerchief, just to get some pressure on the ones that were still bleeding. Then he called Kate's home number, checking in to be sure that Vincente wasn't lying to him, that they hadn't had a chance to get to her because he'd presented such an irresistible target. Maybe they'd planned on two hits, happening at the same time. Maybe that was why there were so many of them. While the phone was ringing he looked down at his shirt. Things had gotten pretty messy. He couldn't show up at her house looking like this, without getting cleaned up first. Then he realized the phone was still ringing and the answering machine hadn't come on.  
He switched to calling her cell phone and got the voice mail. By this point he was in the car and driving. He switched back to the landline again. Still no answer.  
He felt a thin trickle of sweat run down his back. He'd been so calm while he was hunting them, and being hunted. Everything had been crystal clear to him in the middle of it, precise, almost like a dance, not choreographed, but understandable. Clues he could perceive and put together into conclusions. What was the clue here, what had he missed, where was she?? He was doing 75 mph now, weaving in and out of the, thankfully, reduced traffic, making himself fly, even though it meant he was practically begging to be pulled over, with the stuff on him, and powder residue all over his hands and face and in his hair, and other people's blood on him and no good explanation for why he hadn't called for help or reported the shootings but had run off before anybody could start asking all the questions he didn't want to answer. Before he got off onto the side streets he'd pushed it up to 80mph. Still no answer. He should have called LAPD immediately to check her house. He should have made Chase follow him. He should have never called her again. He should have just let it go.  
He pulled into her driveway and screeched to a stop. The garage door was closed but unlocked. Her car was gone; there were lights on in the kitchen. He pulled out his gun and was getting ready to circle around back, by the pool, when she pulled up and calmly parked her car next to his. He realized his hand was shaking as he holstered the gun.  
"Where in hll have you been?" he shouted at her before she was halfway out of the car.  
"I realized I didn't have any syrup in the house so I went to the convenience store before they closed" she answered, stunned at the intensity of his anger. He leaned his head against the car, trying to regain control. She'd never seen him so angry.

"Where's your cell phone? Why didn't the answering machine come on? I've been trying to reach you for half an hour. Somebody could have just walked in there and waited for you to come back. What in God's name were you thinking about?"

"Jack, what happened, why are you so upset?"

He took a deep breath and pulled himself together, before he blasted her with what he was tempted to say: 'I was out killing people tonight, and you want to know why I'm shaking? I thought they'd killed you, and you want to know why I'm upset?" Instead, he got himself under control.

"I took care of Hector's guys. One of them said...I thought they might have come here first".

"What do you mean you 'took care'..." And then she saw the makeshift bandage around his hand, and his shirt, and put it together with what he'd just said, and she understood. He'd been working tonight. Now he was back on this side, the normal side, where she lived.

"Is it over?" she asked quietly.

"I think so. I think they'll get the message. I don't think they'll be back".

"Come on inside, then," she said to him. "I'll get you a drink. Then you can take a shower, and get cleaned up, while I make us something to eat. And then I'll see about those cuts on your hands". "All right". He followed her into her house.


End file.
